


Sinking

by masterwords



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Aaron Hotchner Needs a Hug, Aaron Hotchner Whump, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Hurt Aaron Hotchner, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Blood, Sad Aaron Hotchner, Sad Spencer Reid, Sick Aaron Hotchner, Vomiting, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:48:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28595733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterwords/pseuds/masterwords
Summary: The middle drawer on the right side of Aaron Hotchner's desk had a lock he never used.  It was too small for anything of real importance, but too large to just throw pens and knickknacks into, so one day he'd decided to throw a bottle of Advil inside.  Next thing he knew there was DayQuil, Benadryl, Tums, Pepto and the drawer was used by everyone on the team.   It had been jokingly referred to by Emily as Hotch's Apothecary for all the ways to just get you through your day.   After the bombing in NYC, he'd had a few stronger painkillers to keep on hand, so he started to use the lock but they all knew where he kept the key.  In truth, he used them rarely, and they were safe in the drawer – he'd been worried, knowing Reid's history, but to his credit the medication was never touched.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 50





	Sinking

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "Sinking" by The Cure, which has been stuck in my head all morning. I have two WIPs I need to finish up, I apologize they're taking me so long but the New Years story is turning out so sad I keep finding other things to distract myself.

_**the secrets I hide twist me inside, they make me weaker - the cure** _

The middle drawer on the right side of Aaron Hotchner's desk had a lock he never used. It was too small for anything of real importance, but too large to just throw pens and knickknacks into, so one day he'd decided to throw a bottle of Advil inside. Next thing he knew there was DayQuil, Benadryl, Tums, Pepto and the drawer was used by everyone on the team. It had been jokingly referred to by Emily as Hotch's Apothecary for all the ways to just get you through your day. After the bombing in NYC, he'd had a few stronger painkillers to keep on hand, so he started to use the lock but they all knew where he kept the key. In truth, he used them rarely, and they were safe in the drawer – he'd been worried, knowing Reid's history, but to his credit the medication was never touched. It found its way shoved to the back of the drawer, for a rainy day, he said. Eventually he stopped locking it again. JJ threw her antibiotics in there once, Emily kept a spare bottle of eye drops and Derek kept a few random first aid items stocked. They all just preferred that little spot to anything in their own desks out in the bull pen. 

Reid didn't use it. He knew of it, but he didn't use it. He didn't come to work sick if he could help it, and he kept mostly to himself about those sorts of things after his issues with Dilaudid. At least until he got shot, then things changed. 

Aaron had been stabbed nine times and returned to duty much too soon, they all agreed, but he somehow passed all of his evaluations and was, according to the FBI, fit for duty. When JJ had a banger of a headache after another sleepless night with Henry and rummaged through the drawer, she found a pile of new pill bottles in there – it had been a while since she'd opened it up, she supposed. Maybe it had been a while since anyone had. Aaron's pills were dumped in on top of all of the rest and she could feel a lump form in her throat as she peeked at their names, silly of her she knew, but the way he just trusted them with such intimacy – he'd never say it out loud, but he could have kept the prescriptions somewhere else and he didn't. There were painkillers of course, but also blood thinners and thyroid medications, anti depressants and sleeping pills. Most of the bottles looked full, like he only kept them there to throw into his go bag or as back ups in case he'd forgotten to take something at home. She hadn't realized the real mess Foyet had caused, and being faced with a glimpse now made her tear up. It didn't help that she'd only gotten two hours of broken sleep and her eyes burned just being open. Quickly, glancing around to make sure no one saw her, she swiped at her eyes to get rid of the tears, dug out the Tylenol that she knew would barely touch the headache but it was the only thing she could take right now, popped a few and slid the drawer closed again. It hadn't been locked, but she decided it should be, so she did and left a little note for Aaron so he'd know. He could get in big trouble leaving a drawer like that unlocked and that was the last thing she'd ever want. 

The office was quiet all day, everyone had separate tasks that brought them in and out. Dave and Aaron had spent much of their morning in DC at the police station, but had just returned in time for Aaron to be dragged away for a department head meeting put on by the DEA. He dreaded that meeting every month. It was long and boring, hardly pertained to anything his unit did, but he had to show his face anyway. On a good day he struggled to stay awake and alert, but on a bad day, it was nearly impossible. He'd once sat through an entire meeting with a migraine that had eventually forced him go home early, but he couldn't leave the mandatory meeting, so he focused on the absurd way that the presenter pronounced words. He had no actual idea what the meeting was about, but he did come away with an interesting profile of the poor young woman who was just trying to give some kind of in-service. To his knowledge, he'd never once regretted not knowing what that meeting was about.

On this particular day, he was already grouchy. He was in pain, he'd already spent hours at a police station being verbally abused by officers who didn't respect him, and stuck in traffic that made a 30 minute trip take almost an hour. He was glad that Dave had come along, at least he had good company, but it wasn't enough to shake the foul mood he was in. He grabbed his briefcase and headed for the meeting, dragging his feet as he went. Thankful that the meeting was at Quantico and he wouldn't have to drive anywhere, he clung to that small feeling until he found himself a seat in the back of the room near a few other department heads who felt much the same as he did. They greeted each other warmly, and Aaron avoided the looks of concern people had as they tried to hide their glances at him – everyone knew what had happened to him, and the rumor mill was going wild over it. Did he return too soon? Was he going to lose his unit? He knew all of the talk. It was just part of the work place, people talked, and they talked about other people in order to avoid people talking about them. He didn't mind, not really. It didn't bother him any more now than it ever had, when people would whisper about how young he was to have the position he did, how his team misbehaved, they were always on people's radar. He preferred when the gossip was about him, because at least that meant it wasn't about his team – he'd let them get away with saying anything they wanted about him, but say one thing about a member of his team and someone was going to hear about it. 

The meeting began as it always did, with roll call. That was about the time Aaron started to feel off. He hadn't eaten, so he hadn't taken a few of his prescriptions yet – he'd been planning to eat after the meeting, no time before. He and Dave had been in DC by 7am, that was much too early for anything but coffee. He was starting to regret his decision now, though. His stomach was rumbling and starting to cramp, thankfully he'd grabbed an icy water bottle from the bucket on his way in and cracked it open, feeling the cool sensation slide down his throat and through him. That first drink of an icy beverage was one of his greatest small pleasures. It helped and he managed to find his focus for a while. He glanced at the agenda and realized this meeting was scheduled for two hours – he'd only been there fifteen minutes and he was already fighting to stay on task. 

The nausea came next. It flowed in waves, his mouth filling with saliva to be gulped down with more water until he'd consumed the entire bottle. He started to feel lightheaded and that was when the warning bells went off in his head that he'd have to get out of that meeting immediately or risk a public meltdown. Slowly, making sure not to throw himself into a dizzy spell, he stood and tucked his briefcase under his seat neatly, his movements careful and slower than usual. 

“Let me know if I miss anything, I've got to use the restroom...” he muttered to the man beside him, a man who he at least considered a friendly colleague. The man nodded and moved his legs to let Aaron through, and everyone down the rest of the row did the same. Once he was out of the conference hall he made his way for the bathroom, praying that no one was using it – he wasn't sure what was about to happen but it wasn't good. 

Inside, the bathroom was cool, at least ten degrees cooler than the hallway had been and it was empty. It smelled like it had just been cleaned. The second he relaxed, knowing there wasn't anyone around, he felt the first wave of pain hit him, doubling him over. His entire torso cramped, pulling him in on himself. His arms hugged his abdomen tight, pressing against the pain like he was holding himself together and he stumbled toward a stall on legs that could barely support him. The pain was blinding. He hadn't felt so much pain since lying on his apartment floor being used as a pin cushion by a psycho. He collapsed in front of the toilet and threw up – there wasn't any food, but there was bright red blood. Desperately he wiped the spittle from his chin, his hand coming away smeared with blood and bile, knowing he couldn't go back into that meeting hall now and he'd left his briefcase there with his phone tucked inside on silent. He was three floors away from anyone he could trust to help him, alone on the tile of the corner stall. Slowly, he slid toward the wall, leaning his back against the cool beige tile, and pulled his knees to his chest. Having the pressure on his stomach helped keep the pain almost bearable. He sat like that for twenty minutes, until someone came into the bathroom – the janitor, to check the toilet paper. When he'd opened the stall Aaron was cowering in, he was startled. It wasn't the first time he'd found someone like this in a bathroom, it was sort of what you did when you were sick or hurt – bathrooms were always an odd sanctuary. It was, still, unsettling to find when you just wanted to change some toilet paper rolls. Aaron asked him, in the least desperate voice he could muster, to please find David Rossi and ask him to come down to help him. The janitor was a young man who, at the sight of Aaron's blood, looked a little terrified but he nodded. 

“Aaron?” came a voice that felt like sweet relief to Aaron's ears not long after. He called back from inside of his stall and tried to look somewhat better than he felt by the time Dave's face was in front of his. “What happened?”

“I don't know,” Aaron replied through gritted teeth, the pain doubling down as soon as he'd shifted. “It hurts, Dave.” He looked desperate and sad there on the floor and Dave's heart was in his throat, knowing there wasn't anything he could do to stop the pain. He saw the blood but didn't address it, he knew that one all too well, he’d been throwing up blood almost daily, his throat and insides brutally raw and all Aaron did was dump coffee on it all. 

“That young man, Chad, he blocked off the bathroom with some cones so no one will come in. Good kid. We've got some time.”

“You know those assholes in the DEA meeting will bypass the cones and walk in anyway, rather than walk down the hall...” Aaron grumbled, and Dave nodded. He knew it. Crouching now, his hand placed on the soft, exposed place where Aaron's shoulder met his neck, Dave looked him over. His tie was in his lap, shirt unbuttoned just a little, he looked disheveled and in terrible pain. 

“Well, then, we've got to get you up and out of here. Can you stand?” Of course, Aaron said yes when he meant no, because he had no other choice. What was Dave going to do, carry him upstairs? Leave him there? No, he had to be able to stand up, there was no other way. Slowly, Dave eased him up onto his feet, ignoring the groans and the whimpers as he did so – not that the sounds didn't kill him, but like Aaron, what choice did he have? Aaron leaned against the wall, catching his breath, pressing against his stomach with his palms. 

“My briefcase is...” he gasped through breaths. “It's under my seat....”

“We'll get it later.”

“I have to go back in there...can't miss that meeting or Strauss will have my head. I just need...just need...” he was pressing harder now, and Dave was sure that it wasn't good for him but he didn't intervene. He knew how to play this game of tug of war with Aaron’s well-being, and when he was in this much pain, it was best if he just listened more and talked less. He would have his chance.

“You need me to grab your pills?” Dave asked, and Aaron nodded, gulping down the bile that was rising in his throat. “I can text JJ, everyone else left for lunch.”

Aaron shook his head, pleading silently with Dave. It was hard enough for him to be like this in front of his closest friend, but adding in anyone else was more than he could bear. With a sigh, Dave just nodded and left the stall, closing it behind him and making his way back upstairs to Aaron's desk. The BAU was empty for lunch and he was glad because he'd noticed that he looked a little pale and stricken in his reflection, his worry apparent on his features, someone was bound to notice. He grabbed the key and unlocked the drawer, rummaging around in there for something helpful. He'd found the bottle of hydros in the back of the drawer, hidden by the Pepto, but it was empty. It was an old prescription and he shrugged, figuring Aaron just hadn't bothered to toss the bottle yet and pushed through more until he found the new prescription, Tramadol, also empty which didn't seem right. He began pulling the bottles out one by one, finding that all of the pain medications in the drawer were either empty or dangerously low and he felt a pit form in his stomach. Was Aaron abusing his medications now? He fell into the chair like a ton of bricks, staring at the bottles before him, unable to believe his friend would do that. His mind frantically searched through Aaron's medicine cabinet in his home, his guest bathroom, but the bottles there were full, he was sure of it. There was no way. He pushed all of the bottles back into the drawer and locked it up, heading back to his friend in need woefully empty-handed. 

This news was not met with grace. Aaron growled, like a wounded animal, and collapsed to the floor again, dragging his knees to his chest just for some relief. 

“All of them?” he groaned and Dave crouched beside him, sure now that Aaron wasn't hiding anything – he hadn't emptied those bottles. He felt a sick sense of dread, knowing that Aaron's trust had been violated, and it was by someone on their team, no one else knew where he kept his keys. 

“We have to get you out of here, Aaron,” Dave said in his gentlest voice, and Aaron looked up at him desperately. He wasn't sure he could stand again, but he'd have to. And worse, he'd have to find a way to go back to that meeting or risk the rumor mill stirring itself up into a frenzy. Dave helped him to the sink, cleaned him up, buttoned his shirt and tied his tie tight. He was panting now and it was pretty clear he could barely stand up, but he managed because he had no other choice. Setting his jaw, he exited the bathroom standing as tall as he could, Dave walking impossibly close to him, shoulder to shoulder for support. At the door to the meeting hall, Aaron gave Dave one final look of utter despair before wiping his face of all emotion and walking stiffly back inside. Dave took a seat in the hallway, ready to help at a moment's notice – it was lunch, he wouldn't be missed. He just played a few rounds of low quality solitaire on his phone to distract himself. 

Aaron was the last one out of the meeting and he looked like hell. His skin was the color of ash and Dave could see the tremble in his hands from where he stood, but people spoke to him like they didn't even notice. He was gripping his briefcase hard, knuckles white, transferring his pain to that one small spot he could control. For many of them, it was their first time seeing him back after Foyet's attack and they were offering condolences and well wishes, asking if he'd gotten their flowers or telling him he should have taken more time off, milked it for all it was worth. He forced smiles when needed and nodded his head, and Dave just watched in awe. Aaron was infuriating and magnificent and so incredibly stupid. He was barely standing and yet he wouldn't turn away a single person who approached him, not one. Finally, he made his way out of the hall and to Dave, the look on his face said he was about to collapse so Dave moved out of the way and watched as he sat down, just long enough to catch his breath. 

“Let me drive you home, you've got what you need there,” Dave said softly, crouching so he was eye to eye with his friend. Aaron shook his head.

“I'm fine, it feels better...I need to deal with the drawer problem.”

“Liar. I can see it in your eyes, Aaron, you need to go home. We can deal with the pills tomorrow.”

Aaron gulped back another wave of nausea and shook his head. “No. I just need to eat something and...talk to Reid.” 

Dave nodded solemnly. He'd been thinking it, too. Couldn't imagine it having been anyone else. Slowly, they made their way back upstairs to the BAU and saw everyone back at their desks now. They all looked up as the two men walked through, Aaron's jaw squared and set like it took all the effort in the world to move his body forward and for a split second that resolve broke as he began ascending the stairs. He gripped the railing tight, almost using it to pull himself up when taking another step seemed impossible, but with Dave coming up right behind him, his misery was at least somewhat shielded from view. Inside of his office, they shut the door and Aaron sat in his chair, glad for the relief it brought. He unlocked the drawer and pulled out the bottles himself, needing to touch each one, to verify with his own eyes the violation that had occurred. He felt like he was going to be sick again. 

“You agree with me, Dave?” he asked in a voice so small Dave almost didn't hear it. He sounded crushed. He almost hoped Dave would say no. “I should talk to Reid?”

Dave nodded. “Yes.”

“Okay. Could you do me a favor first? Could you bring me an ice pack or something? I need...something...my stomach is killing me and I don't...I don't know what else to do...please?” It was desperate, and there was no way Dave could or would say no to such a request. He found no ice packs in the freezer, of course, they'd all been used and not returned as usual but there were ziplock bags and the ice machine down the hall, so he filled one up and wrapped it inside of one of his shirts from his go bag before returning to Aaron's office. He handed it to his friend and watched the look of relief spread across his face as soon as he'd hugged it to his midsection. 

“Thanks Dave,” he whispered, losing himself momentarily in the first bit of relief he'd had in hours. It didn't last long, though. Spencer was at the door, hovering on crutches. 

“You wanted to see me?” he asked, and Dave carefully excused himself, shutting the door behind him. Spencer stared at the empty pill bottles on Aaron's desk as he approached, seating himself so the two of them were eye to eye, desk all that separated them. “I'm sorry...” he muttered. He wasn't even going to put up a fight. He’d known it was only a matter of time, and he hadn’t bothered to hide it...it was almost like he was begging to be caught. 

“So you did this?” Aaron asked, indicating the bottles. Spencer, looking small and ashamed, nodded. 

“I'm sorry...I just...my refills ran out and they wouldn't give me more...and...I didn't think...”

“I needed those.” It was short, angry, pointed. “They were mine, Spencer, and when I needed them, they weren't there.”

“I'm sorry Hotch. I just came up here for Advil, honestly...I didn't mean to...but...” Spencer looked at his boss now, for the first time since he'd entered, and it scared him. Aaron looked pale and sick, there was just a tiny smear of blood on the cuff of his shirt sleeve and what looked like a makeshift icepack on his midsection, the corners of the ziplock bag peeking out from the folds of the shirt. The gravity of the situation hit him like a ton of bricks and he felt sick - for what he’d done, for his boss, for himself. 

“How long?”

“What? How long? I...I don't know...a week?”

“You've shown up every day this week and looked me in the eye while stealing from me?” Suddenly, without warning, Aaron's face went from fury to sadness, and Spencer wasn't prepared for it. He'd been sitting there, preparing for his boss to yell at him, to rage at him, but not this look, this was something altogether different. He slumped over in his chair, making himself smaller, folding in on himself ashamed. 

“I'm...I'm so sorry...are you okay?” He thought he could ask that question, like he still had the right to ask that question. Aaron sighed. 

“No,” was his reply, because he was expecting honesty out of Reid and he'd have to give it in return. Reid may have proven his ability to be untrustworthy, but Aaron didn't have to follow suit. “I'm not. You and I both know I shouldn't be here but I have to be. I should fire you for what you did, you know that?”

Spencer nodded. He knew. He even half expected it. Maybe even wanted it. “I know.”

“I want you to go home. Stay home the rest of the week. Get yourself back into your meetings. Fix this, Spencer, or I will have no choice.”

“Yes sir,” Spencer said softly, gathering his crutches and pushing up to his feet. He felt a steely resolve as he began to leave his boss' office, almost an indignant feeling, like this was unfair though he knew it was more than fair, it was almost criminal how lenient he was being. Maybe it was just unfair because he’d wanted something more to happen, expected a storm and instead got this. Infuriating mercy. 

“Spencer?” Aaron called, adjusting the ice against his stomach, and Reid turned around to see that same look of pure sadness on his boss' face. _“You could have just asked.”_

His voice was so soft then, so gentle, void of any edge he'd had before. Written all over his face was just the simple fact that there was trust lost here, and it was devastating. He needed to trust these people with his life and the lives of countless others, and the man standing before him on crutches had just violated that in ways Aaron hadn't thought possible. He beat himself up over not taking a harder stance when Spencer was battling his addiction, he beat himself up constantly for it, but it hadn't been his place and he knew the other man was getting help. He was proud when it looked like Spencer had defeated his demons, and it broke his heart that he was sinking back into it. That hurt worse than him not having his medications, knowing his friend was struggling and was so willing to forget that he, too, was in pain just to get a fix. It broke him. 

“I...” Spencer started, tears falling down his cheeks now. “I know. I'm...so sorry, Hotch.”

Aaron nodded and looked down at the desk as Spencer left the office, he couldn't bear to look at the younger man anymore. His stomach was killing him and he needed to go home. He dug through his briefcase, pulled out his phone and texted Dave quickly, then tossed the phone onto his desk and leaned over, folding his arms and resting his head there. He felt sick to his stomach. When Dave arrived and saw Aaron lying there on his desk, he closed the door behind him and approached slowly. 

“You talked to him?”

“I did.”

“And you were right?”

“Yes.”

“Dammit,” Dave muttered, gathering up case files from Aaron's inbox and shoving them into his friend's briefcase because he needed something to do with his hands, to channel his anger. “What was he thinking?!”

“He's in pain,” Aaron said softly and turned his eyes up to Dave. “Just like me. The difference is just that...I have you. That saves me a thousand times a day. Who is saving him?” 

Dave paused and looked at Aaron seriously, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well now I know for sure you need to get out of here,” he muttered, approaching Aaron and putting his hand gently on his shoulder. He smiled, and Aaron returned the gesture, although his was weak. “Let me take you home.” 

Home. Dave's house, because Aaron couldn't bear his apartment yet. He’d tried to sleep there after being discharged from the hospital but the place felt haunted, he didn’t sleep for almost an entire week. It was just one long, extended anxiety attack until Dave put an end to it. The blood stains had been cleaned up, all traces of Foyet's presence in the place erased and replaced by case files and boxes of photos and papers and notes. It wasn't a home anymore, it was the over sized office of a madman. Aaron would go there in the morning, before work, and stop there afterward, just to sit and obsess over Foyet in solitude. The silence in there was deafening, and by the time he thought he could smell the metallic tang of blood in the air, he was ready to leave, ready to try and sleep, so he'd go to Dave's. This would be, he noted, the first day he wouldn't be making that stop and as they drove by that area of town he felt a pull, like he needed to stop, but he said nothing. Couldn't. Instead he let Dave drive them home, let Dave help him inside and get him settled into his bed, get him all of his pills and some crackers and water. He curled around himself in the bed and, after Dave had headed back to the office to finish his day, Aaron cried. He cried over Spencer and their broken trust, cried because he hurt so bad, cried because he knew Spencer hurt too. He couldn't hate the kid, couldn't even dislike him, but he also couldn't trust him. It killed him, because it was true – all Spencer had to do was ask, he would have done anything he could to take the hurt away for his friend, just like Dave did for him every day. All he had to do was just...ask.


End file.
